If only, if only

it's always been
a serious assignment,
self-inflicted

one of analyzing,
the loose pieces
thrown, scattered;
the puzzle of us

mistaken shapes
that seemed to fit
then didn't

others so quickly
perfect, like
a promise we might
still solve things

unable to see
what was right
in front of us,
words might have
saved us all

empathy sits
at another table,
begs to be asked;
patient, true

Equations

memorization always fails me;
the idothisudothat equations
solve themselves while
I stand on sidelines
doubting the obvious

despair shows up
uninvited, to squander
foolish hope that we
might arrive at
different answers

lost in our mathematics,
any epiphany I ever had,
how we x and y and z
remain an abstract
I can't get a grip on

we speak in tongues;
your words float in my mind
like figures in a times table

I respond with my best guess,
waving from another corner
fingers crossed behind my back

Truth

a certain strain of
runs like veins 
through stone

history so grand, 
you might wish 
you'd been there

the romance of suffering
enviable to one outside of

fractured tales shift
with the landscape of
location, audience

a poverty of promise
not unique or eloquent
in being unfulfilled

every only-if the 
tragic, reliable constant

we are not so
special, after all

what lies behind 
the facade is still
less than ordinary 

turn, face our simple, 
humble truths;
the reality of us 
far more lovely
than all of 
our prior fiction

know that we are
collectively magnificent